


Low

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Intoxication, M/M, MWPP Era, Marauders' Era, Mild Humiliation, Public Sex, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus loses a silly bet to a drunk Sirius, and things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Low

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They should’ve never started on the Firewhiskey before James and Peter got back from their detentions. 

Well, they should’ve, from where Sirius is sitting. But he imagines Remus probably thinks they shouldn’t have. James would probably have reeled it in long before they got to this point. He would’ve laughed at the silly bet they made—who’d make a better dog, Remus or Sirius, _who’s often an actual dog_ —and he probably wouldn’t have enforced the stakes. 

In James’ absence, Sirius is a true opportunist. A drunk one, but still. He proves to be a better dog by simply becoming a dog, much to a very tipsy Remus’ dismay. And now Remus must follow through on Sirius’ prize. Specifically, he has to be _Sirius’_ dog. Lucky Sirius. 

Very, very lucky Sirius, he thinks, as Remus stumbles out of the bathroom, having changed. Although ‘stripped’ might be a more appropriate term. He’s down to just his boxers, with a thick collar around his neck and a leash trailing down his front—the one James will sometimes take Sirius for a walk with. They managed to transfigure some ears onto a headband—a remnant from an old Halloween costume. They’re a chestnut brown to match Remus’ hair. He doesn’t have a tail, but, Sirius thinks, it’s close enough. 

Being a dog isn’t the part that really matters, anyway. What matters is that Remus is wearing practically nothing, and he’s flushed from the alcohol and not bothering to cover his pale chest. His rosy nipples are a little pebbled in the cold, thighs glued together, shoulders a little hunched. He bites his lower lip and mumbles, “How do I look?”

Sirius opens his dry mouth. He means to say, ‘good,’ but instead slurs, “Dogs don’ talk.”

Remus clamps his pink lips together. Then he licks them and giggles, and Sirius shifts his robes so Remus won’t see how fast that little action goes to Sirius’ cock. What he wouldn’t give to feel that cute little tongue on his...

Climbing down to the floor, Remus gets on his hands and knees, crawling his way back to Sirius’ bed. When he gets to Sirius’ shoes, he ball his hands up like paws and places them on Sirius’ knees, saying unconvincingly, “Woof, woof!”

Sirius snorts, “You’re a terrible dog.” But he pets Remus’ head anyway. Mostly just because he likes touching Remus’ hair. It’s so soft. So pretty. He looks good with the headband. He’d be a good girlfriend. 

Boyfriend. _boyfriend._ Fuck, Sirius is drunk. Really, he’s too drunk to be in a situation like this, compromising, when he really, really can’t be trusted. If he does something to ruin his friendship with Remus, he’ll never forgive himself...

Remus is giving him that, ‘what now?’ sort of look. Sirius doesn’t know what, so he just keeps looking stupidly downwards. Remus rests his head on Sirius’ knee, looking cutely up at him through obscenely long lashes, and that doesn’t at all help things. 

If Remus were a real dog, he’d smell the arousal all over Sirius. He’s a wolf; maybe he still can. Shit. What do people do with dogs? He wasn’t thinking this far when he made the bet. Breed them?

Damnit, thoughts like that aren’t helping. Okay. Fetch. Some people play fetch. Sirius fiddles around in his robe pocket for a few seconds, realizes it’s empty, and tries the one on the other side. Then he pulls out his wand, and Remus pulls back a little, looking wary. 

“Relax,” Sirius says. “’S just for fetch.” And he chucks it across the room. It hits the wall between James and Remus’ beds and clatters to the floor. Remus watches it fall. He turns towards it, then looks over his shoulder to stick out his tongue. Sirius returns a grin that clearly says: ‘I could’ve done so much worse.’

Although, this is pretty bad. Watching Remus crawl across the wood floor in just his underwear is a way-too-erotic sight. Sirius can see every muscle move, the curve of his back, the globes of his ass stretching his underwear when he bends down. He picks the wand up in his mouth, and for a brief millisecond, Sirius gets a glance up one leg of Remus’ boxers. Creamy, pinkish skin. Remus has such a great ass. But Sirius already knew that. He stares at it enough. Why don’t people spank their dogs? If he could get away with doing that here, he totally would. 

Instead, he watches tight-lipped as Remus turns around and crawls back over, the wood firmly between his glistening lips. When he gets to Sirius, he sits up and drops the wand in Sirius’ lap, hot breath ghosting over Sirius’ crotch. 

Sirius pets him and pushes him down, barking awkwardly, “Good boy.”

Remus grins like he’s never earned higher praise. Then he tosses his head, probably to flick his bangs out of his eyes, and that makes the clip of collar and leash rattle a bit. Sirius’ eyes go straight to the leather leash hanging straight down to the floor. 

“Okay,” Sirius decides, sliding off the bed and reaching down. “We’re going for a walk.” Remus frowns. 

Sirius ignores it. He grabs the leash and walks towards the door of their room, because their dorm is too small to really walk anyone. Remus doesn’t immediately follow, so Sirius tugs on the leash. They have to do this, because he’s too dumb right now to come up with anything else. And he needs to prolong this bet as much as possible. Because honestly. Remus. Almost naked. Being Sirius’ pet. There’s no way he’s letting that end any time soon. After another tug, Remus begrudgingly crawls forward. 

Sirius isn’t a total monster. When he gets to the door, he opens it just enough to peak out first. There’s no one on top of the landing, of course. James and Peter will still be at detention, and it’s not like anyone else is going to come up their stairs. Then he takes a few steps to peer over the railing, just in case, scanning the dark common room below. It’s empty. The fire’s still lit, but it’s always lit. Grinning like a maniac, Sirius goes back to the room and takes Remus’ leash again. He mumbles quietly, “Don’t worry, it’s clear,” and then he leads Remus out onto the balcony. 

The stairs must be difficult to crawl down, but they’re all there is, so Sirius leads him down them. Sirius has to stop every few steps to wait for Remus to catch up, and a few times he thinks Remus might stumble and fall—this might’ve been a bad idea whilst intoxicated. But they get to the bottom eventually, and then Sirius gleefully marches Remus around the room, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. 

They’re behind one of the sofas when they hear the portrait door open, and Sirius turns around wildly. He glances down at Remus, who sits up to peer over the sofa. Sirius, who’s completely lost the ability to think, dives to the floor, knocking Remus down. They should be hidden from view that way, and when Remus tries to talk, Sirius claps a hand over his mouth. 

Footsteps. Remus tenses beneath him. It’s dark enough that if they’re still, they might not be noticed as the people pass to whatever bedroom they belong in.

Instead, the footsteps walk right around and honker down, one set on the sofa they’re hiding behind and the other on the sofa perpendicular to it. “I can’t believe Padfoot wormed out of that one,” James’ voice whines over the crackling of the fire. “Moony, I get—he told us to stop anyway—but Sirius deserved to be in detention just as much as we did!”

“Do you think he’s sleeping with McGonagall?”

Behind the sofa, Sirius makes a gagging sort of motion, and he has to keep his hand firmly clamped over Remus’ mouth to stifle Remus laughter. “That’s sick, Wormtail,” James groans. 

“I heard it from Jenny Clearwater, though!”

“Well, she’s a dumb gossip. Besides, if Padfoot banged a professor, I’m sure he’d tell us.”

And then Peter promptly dives into why exactly this rumour is likely to be true, and Sirius tunes it out in favour of looking at Remus. Who, he’s just realizing now, is still mostly naked. And crushed under Sirius. They’re all lined up, with one of Remus’ legs between Sirius thighs, hands above his head, hair messy and haloing his face. Sirius can’t sit up without being seen—and now he can’t really have that; poor Remus would die of embarrassment if Peter saw him like this, and besides, it’s not a sight Sirius wants to share—but he can lift up a little. Unfortunately, that makes his crotch rub Remus’ thigh, and Sirius has to grit his teeth to stifle a moan. 

He’s definitely not sharing Remus. This gorgeous creature, bared and vulnerable, is all his, and the Firewhiskey is making his head throb. He’s not making very good decisions. Remus is chewing his bottom lip, looking at Sirius again with that helpless, ‘what do we do?’ look.

Sirius opens his mouth to say something. Quietly, of course. Instead, he lunges down and smashes his lips into Remus, swallowing up the squeak of surprise. 

Peter and James are now talking loudly and laughing, though Sirius has no clue and couldn’t care less what they’re talking about. Or why they’re still in the common room. All he cares about is that his tongue is firmly in Remus’ mouth, and Remus tastes like alcohol and chocolate. Remus’ tongue presses timidly at Sirius, and Sirius greedily takes that for interest. Remus doesn’t push him away, at least. That’s something. Remus takes a moment to properly kiss back, then threads his fingers into Sirius’ hair.

He can’t help himself. Especially not when he’s on a warm buzz, rubbing against a familiar body below him, ready and ripe for the taking. He can feel Remus’ smooth stomach, and he runs down Remus’ lithe sides, tracing faint scars and sliding up to Remus chest, fingering Remus’ nipples. Remus gasps and moans into Sirius’ mouth, and Sirius, feeling dizzy and mischievous, parts their lips to whisper directly into Remus ear, “Dogs don’t talk, so you better not say a word.”

Remus bites his lips and audibly stifles his whimper, but it’s probably too quiet for their friends to hear. Especially since James’ chosen that exact moment to flick on the radio, because they’re apparently intent on waking the whole house. 

They’ll deal with that disaster if it happens. For now, Sirius is intent on utterly ruining his friendship, which will probably be some sort of problem in the morning. Friends shouldn’t make out behind sofas in the midst of kinky games, in public, no less. But here they are. Sirius’ hands are running greedily down Remus’ hipbones, tracing the hem of Remus’ boxers, because he’s too drunk for foreplay. He’s hungry and he wants Remus immediately, before they get caught or Remus realizes how stupid this is. 

Remus lies pliant and easy as Sirius hikes his boxers down his thigh, rearranging his legs to either side of Sirius’ body and pushing the knees back. 

He’s careful to keep Remus’ legs below the top of the sofa, though. He stops kissing Remus long enough to whisper beneath Celestina Warbeck’s loud orchestral arrangement, “Fuck, Remy, want you...”

Remus, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed, whispers, “Woof.”

Sirius smirks, and the grin he gets back says that Remus understands and must agree. Biting his tongue, Sirius lifts up on his arms to glance between them, eyeing the trail of light brown hair disappearing into Remus boxers. The base of his cock is visible, but the rest is still trapped. Growling hungrily, Sirius runs his hands around it, over the scrunched up material to the other side, where the round globes of Remus’ taut ass are waiting. Sirius moans a little too loudly when he gets there, squeezing them delightedly and making Remus squirm. 

Fuck. He shouldn’t be doing this. It’s too fast. Too soon. Too... not anything Remus asked for. But Remus is already fiddling between them to find Sirius’ fly, and Sirius grabs Remus’ hand and guides him. Remus pulls the zipper down and dives his hand beneath Sirius’ boxers, delicate fingers wrapping softly around Sirius’ cock. Sirius moans and thrusts forward into Remus’ hand, trying to fish around in his pocket and kiss Remus all at once. 

He needs his wand. He needs to be _in Remus_ , but he’s been around the block enough to know that that means lube. Fortunately, Sirius knows all the spells. In under a minute, he’s pulled out his wand, tapped Remus’ stomach and muttered the words, and watched Remus’ eyes go wide and his pretty lips open. Sirius tries not to look too smug at his prowess, and he shifts back to run his finger down Remus’ crack, searching for his hole. 

As soon as Sirius finds it, he has to stifle another groan. Tight, of course, and puckered, and it resists when he presses his fingertip into it. Remus can’t be a virgin, he assumes, which he kind of hopes, because this isn’t the best first time scenario. But then again, the thought of anyone else with Remus bothers him. Fuck. He shouldn’t have waited until he was drunk. Last year, last month; the turning point of their lives. But now he is. And he’s got one finger pistoning in and out of Remus’ tight hole, and he adds a second to it, scissoring Remus apart and spreading the thick lube, murmuring next to Remus’ ear things like, “Shh,” and, “Good boy.”

Remus responds by way of a moan, arching up into Sirius’ fingers and writhing deliciously. It makes Sirius not feel so bad about how rushed this is; it’s a wonder he lasted as long as he did with someone so wanton in front of him. 

Sirius has to stop at two fingers, because he’s too horny to go through the whole hand. He pulls them out and wipes them on Remus’ thigh, lining himself up and looking at Remus, searching Remus’ eyes, making sure this is _okay_. 

Remus’ half-lidded eyes are thick with lust, and the way he nibbles his kiss-swollen lips is something out of a dirty magazine. He tugs Sirius down by the shoulders for another kiss, and Sirius pushes inside.

He means to go slowly. He doesn’t. He slams in all at once, and Remus gasps against him and Sirius groans, pushing as hard and as far as he can. Remus’ hot walls try to force him out, tight and slick, and that makes it all the better. The pressure’s pure ecstasy. Sirius’ hips are rolling of their own accord in no time, slamming in and sliding out, pillaging Remus’ small body. He has to make sure they’re kissing the whole time to swallow each others’ noises, and thank Merlin for that radio. It drowns out the slapping sounds of skin on skin and the wet kissing noises, and the stifled groans from both their chests. Sirius grinds into Remus over and over again, and Remus arches into him and takes it. 

Fuck, he better remember this in the morning. The tight squeeze of Remus’ walls, the heady feel of Remus’ tongue. Remus’ warm skin under his fingers. Remus’ cute wriggling and writhing beneath him, hands running through his long hair, clutching at his shoulders and pulling at his shirt. Ugh, he’s still dressed. Why is he still dressed? He should be naked, like his little puppy. But he’s too busy fucking to correct that right now. Next time, there’ll have to be skin on skin in every centimeter...

There has to be a next time. He’ll set it up better, of course. Ask Remus out, maybe. Treat him good, treat him right. So James doesn’t kill Sirius. Remus would never, ever be just another fuck, despite Sirius’ reputation. Remus deserves so much more than a one-time fumble in the common room between two very drunk friends. 

But that’s all Sirius can give right now, and that’s all Remus takes. Sirius is there before he wants to be, stomach twisting and skin burning, fingers clawing in Remus’ soft hips. His balls tighten and his cock twitches, and the next minute, he’s exploding inside Remus, growling down Remus’ throat. He keeps grinding his hips in while he does it, hitting the spot he can tell Remus likes, and Remus keeps mewling happily and taking it, bouncing a little with the force of being fucked. While Sirius milks his own orgasm out, he reaches down to take a hold of Remus’ cock and stroke it lovingly. He must be doing pretty well, even this unbalanced, because it doesn’t take long for Remus to stiffen and spurt in his hand, moaning thickly into his mouth. Sirius takes it all and keeps pumping Remus until he’s sure they’re both completely spent, and then he collapses heavily atop his new dog. 

And that’s when James chooses to walk around the back of the sofa, stare down at them and burst out laughing. Sirius is too busy coming down from his orgasm to react properly, so he just joins Remus in turning a bright scarlet. Fortunately, he’s on top, and his clothes and robes should be covering everything from view. 

It’s still totally obvious what they were doing. Peter shows up behind James and gasps, looking traumatized. 

“What the fuck, Padfoot?” James snorts, probably because he knows this has to be Sirius’ fault. “I leave you alone for one night and you totally debauch our only good marauder!”

Sirius shrugs. “S’not my fault—he started drinking first!”

“Pfft, you liar,” James insists. But he looks down at Remus anyway, tilting his head. Apparently, Remus is sober enough to look completely mortified. Somehow, this must not have occurred to him as a possible outcome, getting caught. But then, the marauders aren’t accustomed to being caught. And they’re not exactly at the top of their game. Clearly addressing Remus, James asks, “You okay, there?”

Remus opens his mouth and closes it. After a few seconds he says firmly, “Woof.”


End file.
